It's all fun and games till the poop runs out of the diaper.

So, remember I said I was going to a baby shower?  Well, I did and it was fun.  We played all the standard games and despite being the somewhat successful mother of four children ("successful" in that all of my kids are still alive) I sucked at most all of them.  My lack of short and long term memory got in the way.  I got my clothes pin stolen after I'd worn it for about three minutes.  We couldn't say "baby" and I immediately referenced how I didn't win any games at my baby shower.  Duh.  I forgot not to say the word after three minutes.  (I knew I should have written it down.)

Anyway.  We played baby charades which was amusing.  Amusing because it's always fun to see what people will do under the guise of "acting it out."  The friend who is having the baby did an Oscar worthy silent interpretation of putting butt cream on a baby's a$$.  It was her two-fingered approach that made one of our team members (it might have been me) scream "DIAPER CREAM!"

But, here's the thing.  The words we had to act out (that I can remember) were:  diaper cream, stroller, baby food, diaper, diaper genie, wipes, baby backpack, robe (I had this one and made the mistake of buttoning rather than tying my robe which prevented any of my teammates from guessing the word.  They were screaming at me, "WHO BUTTONS A BABY'S ROBE???"  My question to them was, "WHOSE BABY WEARS A FREAKING ROBE???  HUGH HEFNER'S?  Cheesus.). 

Now, it's been nearly six years since I had an infant underfoot (figuratively), but I have a somewhat different memory of how infancy went down.  Here are a few words and situations that I'd like to see on the cards in a baby shower charade game.

• cleaning around the future bellybutton
• sore nipples
• ear infection
• projectile vomiting
• meconium
• poop outside the diaper
• breast pump
• being peed on while changing a diaper
• peeing while balancing a nursing baby
• brushing your teeth for the first time in a week
• mastitis
• severe sleep deprivation
• carpal tunnel from carrying the car seat
• colic
• spit-up
• spit-up stains

Let's face it, 90% of the next 18 years of this soon-to-be momma's life is going to be spent dealing with, discussing, or thinking about food, $hit, cleanliness, pain, or sleep. 

Might as well get an early start with it?

Does comedy pay well? How about bad comedy?

Me:  This pain in my lower back is awful.  It's radiating down to my thigh now.

Boy Child:  Wow.  That sounds bad.

Me:  (Is this concern?  Is this concern for his mother???)  Yeah, it is.

Boy Child:  So, it's radiating down to your thigh?  And are you sure this pain is not just in your head?

Me:  (Wait.  This does not sound like concern.  This sounds like something else.)  (In my tight lipped impatient mom voice.)  Yes.  I am quite sure it's not in my head.

Boy Child:  Then it sounds like you might need a thighchiatrist.

There it is.

It's the White Vote!

As usual, Chris Rock speakin' to the people.  Now, get out and vote, people.

Thank you, E.D. for leading me to this, which I had not seen yet.  I nearly spit up my coffee.

I'm Mrs. DayintheLife and I approve this message.

In the spirit of patriotism (and really just because if one more person calls me at dinner time to persuade me to vote a certain way - I might poke eyes out with sharp sticks)...I bring you:

Ways in which I am similar to those currently running for office.

1.  I frequently need to be fact-checked.
2.  I *might* have taken money from the kids' college fund to pay for more urgent needs (like food).
3.  I have four small people to govern, but often cater to only a certain percentage of them.
4.  I often travel all day just to make a stump speech trying to convince the undecideds that I am the candidate they want to trust, believe, and rally around.
5.  I seem to govern two major factions.  One of these factions agrees with me and supports me most of the time.  The other faction directly opposes me in nearly every decision I make.
6.  I've been accused (by those who oppose me) of being cold and insensitive.
7.  I tend to be long-winded when arguing a point and could use a little debate practice.
8.  My work environment can be hostile and I rarely make a decision that everyone can support.
9.  When I am talking about allowances, money I owe the kids, etc., etc., and they question my fuzzy numbers, I often claim, "GUYS!  It would take me too long to go through all the math." 
10.  Often times when people ask me a question I talk, and talk, and talk, and talk and then my time is up and I did not come close to answering their question.

Jim Lehrer:  Mrs. DayintheLife, your two minutes are up.

With friends like these, who needs cable?

Sometimes I wish I was someone else.  And I'm not talking about when I wish I was Johnny Depp's lover or Angelina Jolie (wait...is that the same person?), or Martha Stewart.  (Okay.  You got me.  I never wish I was her.)  I'm talking about when I wish I was one of my closest friends.

No, this is not going to be a post about how I want to live in their houses (half of them live in the exact same house I do, except with better furniture), or how I am in love with their husbands (we are a quirky neighborhood, not Desperate Housewives), or how I wish I had their well-behaved children.  (Ha!  They don't have well behaved children either!)  No, I just wish the ridiculously funny $hit that happened to them happened to me every once in a while so that I would have some good blog fodder.

What I am about to tell you is a true story, but if you are like me there is no way you are going to believe it.  And, if I didn't have Boy Child and a smart phone - I might also have more than a shadow of a doubt.

Card carrying PETA members this is not the post for you.  Do not say you were not warned. 

True Story That I Wish Had Happened to Me (but just *kinda* because it freaks me out a whole lot, so if it had happened to me I am not sure I would have even lived to tell about it).

Now, if you were here when I wrote about carrying a machete to the crapper because of irrational fears, you know that some National Enquirer stuff has happened right here in my neighborhood to people I know.  You also know that I am not a fan of and possibly deathly afraid of small, furry rodent type and actual rodent animals.  This includes all kinds of squirrels, rats, mice, opossums, raccoons and basically any small animal that moves on the ground and is not like a cat - and some cats I am deathly afraid of.

Many of my friends live in the same neighborhood I do and frequently we pass each other driving - either in and out of our neighborhood - or on the main street out of our neighborhood that leads to the main street that leads to the highway that gets us the hell out of dodge.  You get the picture.

So, when we pass each other it's common for us to wave, honk, or text (from the safety of our final destination - and I don't mean hell - because texting and driving is illegal...and dangerous).

I wasn't at all surprised last Friday when I passed my good friend, Sin (not her real name, just what we call her...and I'm pretty sure it's not spelled like that), on the road.  I wasn't even surprised when I saw that she had texted me shortly after.  What did surprise and disturb the hell out of me when I bothered to read her text and view the accompanying photo a few hours later, is what the text said:

TEXT (Sorry, I wish I had screenshot so that you could experience this fully, but I'm too lazy to download it.): 

Are you on Butch Cassidy Road behind a family with a dead rat on their window?

ACCOMPANYING PHOTO (which almost made me vomit).



See the dead rat right at the lower part of the back window???  WTF?  Right?

Now, I think when I saw the photo I must have let out some kind of squeal or something because right away Boy Child (who has an uncanny ability to hear any audible sound I might make when I am reading a text, but cannot hear when I am screaming for him to get off his iTouch) said, "What momma?  Who is it from?  What's wrong?"

And, because I was in a state of shock after seeing some random rat on some freak's window I said, "This is some freaky stuff right here on my phone, son.  Ms. Sin just sent me a text and it said, (and then I read it to him) and here is a photo of a DEAD RAT on someone's window???  WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE THIS MEANS???"

Right away Boy Child (who is like a police officer/detective) said, "That's really weird mom because when we passed them on Butch Cassidy Road I saw something weird and long on the back window of their car and I thought it kinda looked like a rat, but then I thought why would someone have a dead rat on their window, so I thought it must have been something else."

And literally (as crazy as this sounds) with that ridiculous run-on sentence/explanation I calmly put down my cell phone, went about my business of putting the kids to bed or whatever it was I was doing, and didn't give the Dead Rat On A Car Window another thought until yesterday morning.  (I guess you could say I didn't give another rat's a$$.  See what I did there?)

That's when Sin called me.

We had a great ten minute conversation on the phone and suddenly she said, "Oh, hey did you ever get my text with the dead rat photo?"

I immediately traveled back in time (not literally, just in my head) to the text and said, "Uh, yeah.  That was super disgusting.  What the hell was it?"

She said, "Did you not see it in real life when you passed us on the road???  On our car???"

Me:  Uh, NO.

Sin (cackling):  Well, it was on our car.

She proceeded to tell me the story of how her beloved cat (not beloved by me because if I want a dead rat, I will kill my own) brought her yet another bird and when she wasn't that amused killed her a king size rat and decided to put it on her car (because that's where we put things when we want to show our love).

After her whole family examined (not too closely) the dead rat on their car, my friend, Sin, got a stick with which to push it off the car and dispose of it. 

Now, mind you, it's hot down here in Texas.  Last Friday I think it was somewhere around 120 degrees in the shade.  And she was damned when she found that the dead rat was stuck to the window.  Literally stuck. 

"Like chewing gum.  There was no easy way to get that sucker off without touching it with my bare hands and I'll be damned it I was gonna do that."

So, the family called a quick family meeting and made a *reasonable* decision to drive that thing off.

Now, this is not a trend that I am aware of, but due to the prevalence of cats down here in South Texas and the heat, which does not seem to be letting up one bit, it might just turn into a trend for people who find prizes from their cats in the form of dead rats stuck to their cars like bubble gum.

It took quite a lot of driving because apparently he was a stubborn dead thing.

And eventually it took a little more than driving (I will spare you the details on that one).

When Sin finished telling me this story, I was torn between laughing hysterically and being deeply disturbed.  All I could muster was, "Cheesus.  That is one hell of a story."

I.  cannot.  even.  imagine.  Nor do I want to.  If any cat of mine put a dead rat on my car, he'd need those nine lives of his.  And, seriously, do I need TLC with this kind of entertainment right at my fingertips?

So, I guess what I am saying is that #2 on the list (right below "Carry a machete to the crapper.") is:  Do not allow defenses to go down and children to con me into getting another cat no matter how much I might want the story.


The end.

Stop being happy and start being skinny!

Occasionally something comes out of my mouth and I gasp because it is my mother.  And she is dead.  Now, you know I loved/love my mother dearly but there are some wacky things that used to come out of her mouth that quite frankly I have never understood.  Here are just a few:

1.  A stitch in time saves nine.  But, I can't sew.
2.  Idle hands are the devil's work.  But, what if your hands are busy stealing?
3.  Cleanliness is next to Godliness.  I'm sorry.  I just don't understand that.
4.  The early bird gets the worm.  But, we all know if you are a worm, sleep late.  (I *might* be a worm.)
5.  Curiosity killed the cat.  That's just wrong.  And besides, cats have nine lives and idle hands.
6.  (And this gem when she would find out that someone was mad at someone else.)  Well, now so-and-so has another job.  Getting unmad.  I actually semi-understand and like that one, but have updated it to a gem that one of my amazing blog readers taught me:  You can get unmad in the same pants you got mad in.
7.  Measure twice.  Cut once.  What do you do if you suck at measuring and cutting?
8.  I am the mother.  That's why.  Now, this is a good one that although I do not understand I use on a regular basis.
9.  Frowning takes more muscles than smiling.  Excuse me.  What the WHAT?


A few days ago, Girl 1 threw a mother-loving fit and then was pouting for a good four hours. 

Suddenly out of NO where (except possibly the after world) this came out of my mouth, "Y'know, frowning takes more muscles than smiling."

She silently looked at me with a look that said, "What in the &*%$ are you talking about?" 

And she actually did that while she was frowning.

And then I looked at myself (without an actual mirror, I mean I just examined my soul) and thought:

What in the &*%$ am I talking about???

FROWNING TAKES MORE MUSCLES THAN SMILING??? 

And I've known this fact since I was a CHILD???

Seriously?

I have been on a mission this summer to "count calories." (And I mean this in the loosest sense possible, like for example: A fruit smoothie probably has less calories than bacon, hash browns and scrambled eggs.)  Along with the counting calorie mission, I've been diligently trying to use all my muscles on a regular basis because I was doing research on calorie burning and some professional on the internets said that using the same muscles over and over will not burn as many calories as changing up your routine.  So, I have been a working out/calorie counting slave.

And here I had haphazardly stumbled on a diet gold mine. 

Why am I trying to use different muscles everyday working out?  I just need to be less happy and frown more.  And I could be using more muscles. 

I think my ma *might* be trying to communicate with me from the other side to let me know:  Exercise is for the birds!  Not smiling is the key!

Amen!

I am ready to start my new program!  Sign me up!

I don't know much, but I do know the Chupacabra (and he's not the largest rodent in the world).

I will be the first to admit I am not smarter than a fifth grader.  Hell, I am not even smarter than my pre-schooler some days.  Half of this inability to compute can be blamed on my ever shrinking memory.  (Who are you?  Why are you reading my blog?)  The other half can be blamed on the fact that I really suck at all kinds of trivia, science, history, politics, and paparazzi.  And the other half can be blamed on the fact that I confuse things in my head on a regular basis.  (Was Neil Armstrong the first man on the moon, or a famous jazz musician?  Is a doppelganger something evil representing misfortune or is it a show about a harried detective that I like to watch on PBS?  Do I respect philanthropists or philanderers?)

When you have four kids who ask you everything under the freakin' sun all day long, and who during the summer are home 24/7 this can be a little problematic.

During the last six weeks here is an incomplete list of things I have been asked and that I have attempted (feebly) to explain (know that my kids now *might* be misguided):

• What color is blood before it squirts out of your body?
• What makes something radioactive?
• What does "being paroled" mean?
• What happens after the policeman arrests you for speeding?
• Why are there magnets?
• What's photosynthesis?
• What's the tallest mountain in the world?
• Why are no two fingerprints alike?
• Who invented money?  Why can't we just make more at our house? 
• Is Cinderella the one with the wicked step mother or is it Snow White?
• What is Pixar from Disney Pixar?  What does it mean?
• Which presidents are still alive?
• Are there four Ice Age movies or three?
• Is there more than one "f" word?
• What's puberty?

Luckily my husband can explain most things (and if he can't, he just makes fairly believable sh*t up).  So, my usual answer goes something like this, "Photosynthesis is when some rare gases mix with the sun's rays and form tequila.  We use the tequila to make a common drink called a margarita.  There are many recipes for them and we usually put salt on the rim of the glass.  I think.  But, I am sure dad knows more, so when he gets home let's ask him.  And then mom will drink a margarita."  Or sometimes I just say, "That sounds like a great question for Google.  Go look it up and prepare a five page report on what you find."

Here's a short list of things I do not/did not know (just pulled randomly from this past month) mainly because I did not remember the facts as they were presented to me or I just plain don't know/don't care:

Many of these have to do with whether or not people are dead or alive and if they are dead, how they died.  You can analyze that at your leisure and decide whether or not I am obsessed and have a problem.  Or, I can save you the analysis and tell you:  Yes, I am.  I have many problems.

1.  I did not know Flo-Jo was dead. 
2.  I did not know Anne Frank died in the end (prematurely, I should say since we all die in the end).
3.  I did not know who Arlo Guthrie was.  Although, the 100th anniversary of Woody Guthrie's death has been commemorated on par with the death of Ronald Reagan (whose funeral might still be in progress).
4.  I am not sure what the largest sea animal is.
5.  I do not know which is bigger:  an elephant or a whale.
6.  I do not know the tallest mountain in the world.
7.  I am not sure why there are magnets.
8.  I do not know how many Disney princesses there are.

All of this is to give you an idea of my frame of mind a few weeks ago when hubby brought home this:

For some reason, Girl 1 was distrustful of the facts as they appeared on the box and felt the need to pose questions to all of us every morning.

(This was a joy to me as I have already explained to you how I excel at these things.)  And, did I mention my Keurig is broken???

Here's how pre-coffee breakfast conversations have gone:

Girl 1:  Mom, is the saguaro really the tallest cactus in America?
Me:  I don't know.  I think so.
Girl 1:  Mom, is the White Sturgeon really the largest freshwater fish?
Me:  Hmm.  I'm not sure.  Is a whale a fish?
Girl 1:  Mom, is Mount Washington really the Windiest Place?
Me:  That's a good question.  How would they even know what the windiest place was?  What do they use to measure it?  Their licked fingers???

I was a little irritated that after making such painstaking attempts to be accurate in my answers, it wasn't until a few days into this game that Girl 1 told me these "Superlatives" were limited to America.  After I found that out, I would just respond with, "Oh, I'm not sure what this is in America.  I know how it is in the whole world, but to know about just America, you'll have to Google it." 

(I am sure this made me appear much smarter to my kids.)

Finally, Girl 1 asked a question I knew a lot about.

She said, "Mom, I FOUND A MISTAKE ON THIS BOX!  I KNOW the largest rodent is NOT the American Beaver!"

I said, "You are absolutely right.  It's not."

Because, this is trivia I actually know!  I hate rodents more than I hate raccoons and so naturally I know that the capybara is the largest rodent in the world.  (Forget the fact that I knew the box would have listed the largest rodent in America.  Which probably is, in fact, the American beaver.)  There is even a capybara at our local zoo that we visit frequently, so I have seen one in person.

I waited for Girl 1 to give me the right answer and she loudly proclaimed,

"A CHUPACABRA is the largest rodent!"

Before I could laugh hysterically, or astound her with the fact that I knew the right answer she said,

"Wait.  That's not right.  A CAPYBARA IS THE LARGEST RODENT IN THE WORLD!"

I am deeply disturbed that at age nine, Girl 1 seems to be following directly in my footsteps.

How To Blind Yourself While Away From Home, Part 1

I've been out of town at a training since Tuesday.  First of all - I missed you all dearly (and I tried tortuously, unsuccessfully, and repeatedly to write to you - which I will detail in a minute).  Second of all - I nearly blinded myself several times while away.  So, I guess this post is part love letter (to you guys) and part PSA - How To Go Blind (or not) While Traveling.  You're welcome.

I don't travel well.  I can never sleep right, I am terrified of bed bugs, I go through a 30 point room inspection (and I am not kidding), I am usually still too freaked out (by what I *might* have seen) to sleep, I just generally hate being away, and my germaphobia makes it hard to touch anything (which can be awkward and time consuming).  And, yes, I realize this is nuts.  (If it is like a 5-star $1,000 a night resort - I'll take it.  Especially if someone else is paying.  No hesitation.  I'm generally just talking about the kinds of hotels I stay in.)

Anyway, while I was away, of course, all these kooky things kept happening and I kept trying to write about them.  It wasn't until many frustrated attempts to post on our Toshiba notebook were unsuccessful that I realized what all the nutty occurrences had in common - they nearly all caused me unrepairable eye damage.  Weird and kind of psychotic.  I know.  But, that's what happened.

How I Almost Suffered Unrepairable Eye Damage At The Blind You Blind Hotel (name changed to protect the innocent)

1.  I tried to post on my blog numerous times in three days.  By "tried to post" this is what I mean:  I would type about half of a post (that I thought was particularly witty and clever) and accidentally hit something on the tablet while reaching for my bad hotel coffee and POOF all of what I had laboriously written was gone.  The FIRST time it happened I was like, "SH*T.  NO FU&*ING way.  THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN."  THEN, I TYPED IT ALL AGAIN.  FROM MEMORY.  That's how much I freakin' love you guys.  THEN IT HAPPENED AGAIN.  Then I cried.  Then I tried the next day and the same thing happened a few more times.  Then I decided my love was not worth my sanity.  That's when I realized I was in danger of going blind.  How?  I basically looked for a sharp object in the cheap hotel with which to POKE MY EYES OUT OF MY SKULL.

2.  As you know, we do not have cable.  We pay for a basic service (which is no longer even called cable) that allows us to have an "on" button on our TV that works.  We can watch fairly decent shows such as:  the news, Nightline with Tom Brokaw (wait, is he dead?), Two and a Half Men (three of whom do not have brains), and a various assortment of criminal/attorney/criminal/judge/attorney/criminal shows.  With this kind of variety every night in and out for 365 days a year, I tend to go a little "hog wild" when I get to a hotel (even a mediocre one).  I *think* I may have watched TLC all night.  Here's what I remember:  Man With the 250 Pound Tumor, Man Born With Half a Body, Sister Wives, Pet Parents.  Don't get me wrong.  I love the bearded lady, the world's tallest man, Tom Thumb, but I have to ask - WHEN DOES IT END???  Man With Half a Face?  Woman With Third Breast?  Twins Joined At Their Pinky Fingers?  I think you can see how this almost made me blind. 

3.  When I travel I have to take mini bottles of everything I use on my face to keep it looking young (that's roughly 75 bottles).  It can get overwhelming and confusing.  Is this the soap or the moisturizer?  Is this the toner or the lightener?  Is this the lifter or the spritzer?  Is this the wine or the beer?  (oh, wait.)  I was really tired Wednesday morning (from watching the man with the 250 pound tumor all night) and I did not yet have my contacts in or my glasses on.  I saw this on the counter. 


Carefully notice (as I did not), the bottle on the left says, "make-up remover."  The bottle on the right says, "clarifying lotion."

In case you don't have old skin, "clarifying lotion" might be 100% rubbing alcohol.  At least that's what it feels like when rubbed directly in your eyes.

I was still sighted on Thursday - enough to attempt blindness two more times.

But, since I haven't slept since Tuesday, I am going to relate that at another time.  Right now I am removing my make-up carefully and settling in with my hubby and Netflix.  It's good to be home.

I'm kind of A Big Deal (and I am serious this time).

I'm *kind of* famous and I almost f*&%ing missed it.  As most of you know I have quite an addictive personality (Don't be jealous.  It's only for useless $hit.  Of course I couldn't be addicted to sewing, being a great parent, or super wife, or cleaning, or cooking great food, or checking my spelling and grammar, or folding laundry correctly instead of just stuffing the drawers full to the point of breaking the dressers.  I'm only addicted to:  procrastinating, things that make me fat, cheap beer, expensive dark chocolates, Pinterest, etc., etc.).  One of my addictions:  I cannot stop finding great blogs I've never read, becoming addicted, adding them to my blogroll, and basically stalking people until they take out a restraining order on me....KIDDING.  No one's done that yet.  That I know of.  It's so bad that I had to make a resolution to try and curb it.  BUT, it seems my bad habits have finally PAID OFF (yeah, pay attention, hubby!).  The fabulous author of one of these new (to me) blogs I recently started stalking has bestowed an honor upon my blog (that sounds so British)...............AND I AM PEE PANTS EXCITED ABOUT IT (that sounds all American). 

I had just been bitching and moaning about how I never get awarded crap, how I must be just a God awful blogger, how I will never, ever be a famous author (or cookie store owner, damn it), how every other blogger I know has a crap ton of awards and I don't have jack$hit, how my skin is looking so old and that's probably why my blog sucks, blah, blah, blah.  And then I find out that the fairly famous gal over at whatimeant2say (who has a crap ton of awards, BTW, that she had to buy a f&*%ing bookshelf for them) has given me this:

Is this beyond awesome, or what?  SHE is fairly famous and so now that makes me (I guess) kinda famous!!!  Do you want to shake my hand and then never wash your hand again?  I'll let you!  This fame is new, so take advantage of me!  I am so gonna buy a new car today because every kinda famous person needs a new ride, right?

So, apparently when people get awarded awards (this is my first one, so I am not really sure about protocol) they are required to do certain things (like buy new cars and maybe that new purse I have been wanting..............I feel a "note to self" coming on).  So, here's the certain things I need to do/feel compelled to do.  Don't worry I made it concise.

Protocol when you are awarded an award for Awarding People Who Are Kind of a Big Deal.

1.  Acceptance Speech:  I would like to thank myself for being so brilliant. whatimeant2say for recognizing my brilliance. blog.  I would also like to thank God and my mom.

2.  Name 5 things you would stick up your Junk Trunk if you were forced to.  Hmm.  whatimeant2say has never met me IRL so I would not expect her to know that I don't have any Trunk Junk.  I would, however, stick my skinny a$$ up for:  a beer (it's okay I don't need a glass), Ghiradelli chocolate brownies (even just the samples at Costco), injustice of any kind (unless it involves squirrels, those nasty chocolate rats, living things crawling up your toilet to bite you in the a$$, or SPAM because I have rational fears toward all of those things), white girls who rap (because there aren't very many and I think they might need my Junk Trunk - small as it is - to help them out), and The People of Wal-Mart (because let's face it, we would have far fewer laughs without them).

3. Tell at least 5 things you do that would make people want to kill you or, at the very least Hate you for the rest of their lives.  Wow.  Just five?  1.  When I am bored talking on the phone I make a static-y sound with my mouth and say, "Oh, the phone's breaking up.  I'll call you back."  2.  Every time I see Sometimes when I see small, yappy dogs that won't shut up I just want to go to Korea.  3.  I watch Millionaire Matchmaker.  4.  I get in short lines at the grocery and then use a lot of coupons.  And then I write a check.  5.  I drive slower than 20 in school zones (and I have been known to forget about holidays and weekends) and if I see someone on a cell phone I roll down my window and do an old geezer shaken fist move at them.       

3. Blindfold yourself & walk out into traffic on the Highway.  I got my four kids to do that one for me. 

4. Pick 5 Bloggers to BULLY with this (a-hem) ‘Award’.

Adventures in Self Reliance

Ramblings and Rumblings

This Is Mommyhood

Cyberbones 

Manic Motherhood

P.S.  A good friend just brought to my attention that I totally screwed up the answer to #2.  Sorry.  Apparently my brain was "off" when I answered that.  Now that I have read it correctly my answer, "EWWWWW.  EXIT ONLY."

2012 we had a good run!

It's January 31, y'all!  It kinda snuck up on me.  One minute I was bitching about how many freaking days were in January??? and the next thing I know it's the last day!!!  It seems a tributary list is in order.  This is not my idea.  I blame Michael Feldman for this one.  He did a listener call-in for the best of 2012 in a show that ran here a few weeks ago.  So, if you don't like this post - it's not really my fault.

Reasons why 2012 was the best year ever.

1.  I did not get the flu and die.
2.  No one in my family got the flu requiring me to nurse them to health like Florence Nightingale.
3.  All of my major home appliances are in working order.
4.  We did not buy a dog.  Or a cat.
5.  The suicidal bird that has been trying to die on my bedroom window is recovering slowly from his depression (he senses the end of January is near).
6.  I kept one of my resolutions..........I think............what were my resolutions?
7.  I bought a chore chart that my kids are taking seriously (if you don't count the fact that the three year old considers getting up and eating good chores that should be rewarded).
8.  Our family now gets Netflix.
9.  I gave up coffee.  Then I started drinking coffee again (a few minutes later).
10.  I had jello shots on my birthday!

Happy New Month, y'all!  Let's make it a good one!

Turtle Wax? No, I'll take the Brazilian.

So, just in case your to-do list looks like mine - I have a little Christmas hilarity for you.  I feel compelled and completely justified putting that in LARGE letters.  Take a time-out from your shopping, card writing (If you need my address - leave a comment.), baking, eating, and drinking heavily (non-alcoholic, of course, it's still before 12:00).  Grab a cup-of-joe and read on.

Backtrack to a few days ago (it took me that long to stop laughing and find the laptop under the load of Christmas crap decorations that are covering all the freaking tables in my house) when hubby was out seeing patients with his supervisor (to be referred to as Virginia - name changed to protect the innocent).  Often when he is out seeing patients, the TV in the house is on.  On occasion hubby will tell me about something he "saw on TV while at a patients house."  So, I wasn't really fascinated when he started telling me about seeing a spot about "waxing" on The View.

I think my exact thought was, "Oh, really?  Fascinating."

UNTIL he said (quite nonchalantly), "Do you know what a Brazilian wax is?" 

Now, at that point many things (none of them fit to print) went through my head, but what I managed to say was:  Ah, yes.  Why?  (NOT entirely wanting to know.)

Hubby:  (Now giggling and sporting a grin like a teenager.)  Well, I didn't.

Me:  YOU DIDN'T???  Oh my GAWD.  What exactly happened?  Did they do a BRAZILIAN WAXING ON THE VIEW???

Hubby:  Well, no.  Not exactly.

Me:  WELL WHAT EXACTLY?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT A BRAZILIAN WAX IS NOW?  WHY AM I FRIGHTENED FOR HOW THIS STORY ENDS??? 

Hubby (Now giggling a little more.):  Well, yeah.  I think I know now.  Virginia explained it to me.

Me:  Oh God.  Tell me no.  What happened exactly?

Hubby:  Well, I could just hear the TV.  And I HEARD that they were talking about waxing on The View and like I said I didn't really know what Brazilian waxing was.  So, I just assumed they meant like waxing.  Like waxing a car.  So, when I happened to actually look over at the TV, there was like I guess a commercial.  And it was a guy waxing his car.  So, I said (out loud), "What's a Brazilian wax?"

Me:  YOU SAID IT OUT LOUD TO EVERYONE???  WHAT DID THEY SAY???

Hubby:  Well, no one really said anything.  So, I kind of figured they didn't know either.  And, then grandma kind of smirked.  So, then I said, "Is it like a really special kind of car wax?" 

Me:  Oh, please.  Tell me you didn't.

Hubby:  (Now laughing quite out loud.)  Well, yeah.  I did.  Then everyone started laughing pretty hard.  Then Virginia said while chuckling, "I'll tell you later, it's not really appropriate to talk about right now."

Me:  Oh my God.  WHAT DID YOU THINK WHEN SHE SAID THAT???

Hubby:  (STILL LAUGHING.)  Well, I figured it wasn't a special kind of car wax!!!

Later, after they left the patient's home, Virginia told hubby the barest (no pun intended) definition of a Brazilian wax.  I had to complete the picture (not literally because that would make me and you vomit) for him right then as he was telling me the story.  As soon as I had filled in the details (so to speak) for him we were both laughing so hard it was impossible to continue talking about how horrible the situation had been. 

Here's what makes this story so great:

1.  Between hubby and me, I am decidedly the naive one.  So, score one for me.
2.  I stick my foot in my mouth on an almost daily basis, while hubby is just known all around as a jokester/prankster/middle school humor man.  So, he constantly reminds me of times when I have inserted said foot in mouth.  Bring it on, hubby.  You will be hearing about this fo'eva!
3.  It's just damn funny and I cannot resist a good laugh. 

I know, so junior highish.  Sorry.  I blame The View.  Happy shopping, and if you are out and about and decide to treat your car to a Christmas wax, don't forget to ask for the BRAZILIAN!

I'll Take Parenting for $10,000 or The Honeymoon is OVER

How long, after the school year starts, does it take a third grader to completely meltdown over homework?  THAT is the question that will someday win me a million dollars.  Or at least that's how I like to think of the time I am doing right now in parenting boot camp.  Someday it's gonna payoff.  Big!

For those of you not counting, yesterday was the sixth day of school and that's when it all started to unravel.  And the cause?  Place Value or as I like to say "The Value of Zero".  Huh?  (I know!)  I won't bore you with details.  Here's the Meltdown Recap.  Read it and weep.  Or, if you are a smarty pants, read it and snicker.

Third Grader:  silently sobbing at homework table (which, in our house, looks remarkably like the kitchen table)
Me:  ignoring her
Third Grader:  sobbing more loudly
Me:  ignoring her
Third Grader:  excessively loud huffy breath and then a full-blown sob/scream
Me:  ignoring her
All other children (including the two year old):  MOM!  ARE YOU LISTENING!  S. is SCREAMING and we can't do our homework.  MAKE HER BE QUIET!

Did I ever tell you how my home is like a bastion of compassion?  It is.

Me:  in my frighteningly calm voice:  S. are you okay?  What's wrong?
Third Grader:  in her equally frightening quiet voice:  Hm. hm. hm umph. hm. hm.
Me:  What?
Third Grader:  Hm. hm. umph. hm. hm. hm.
Me:  WHAT?
Third Grader:  My homework is too hard.
Me:  going to homework table and looking at her homework - which is place value.  Hard place value.  Hmm.  Well, when something is hard for us, does crying and throwing a fit help?  (Thinking - Yes.  Yes, it does.)
Third Grader:  No.
Me:  Well, what might help?  (Thinking - chocolate - preferably dark.  And a beer.  Preferably light.)
Third Grader:  Looking at the example?
Me (after glancing at the first question:  In the number 2,467,985,470,887,476 the underlined number has what value?):  Yes!  I think that will help.  (Thinking - Gosh, I hope so.)

So, that's pretty much it.  We muddled through place value (With me frequently consulting the examples and my third grader assuring me that her teacher would tell her if I had done it wrong on Tuesday.  Thank you, teacher!).  My third grader was pretty sure there was a difference between "0" and "0,000,000."  I argued that I was pretty sure zero meant zero.  We ended in a stalemate.  Teacher will decide today who is right. 

Aside from the fact that I started dinner wondering if I am smarter than a THIRD GRADER, I am pretty sure it ended well.  I thought the value of zero was zero, but I could be wrong.  Nothin' like some third grade teacher who is half my age to make me call into question everything I have ever known about place value.  At least I still have a game show future.  If you are a Math Person (guess who's not), feel free to weigh in - and by that I do not mean chastising me for being Not Smarter Than A Third Grader. 

Hope you are surviving The Beginning of School, and if not - take heart, eat some dark chocolate, and drink a light beer.  You'll be better for it.

Yours truly,

I Miss Summer